


always a groomsman...

by snottygrrl



Series: reception series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-13
Updated: 2004-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snottygrrl/pseuds/snottygrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ron and hermione are getting married. harry can't tie his bowtie. draco's pov</p>
            </blockquote>





	always a groomsman...

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** ust, flangst  
>  **disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>  This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.  
>  **author's notes:** this plot bunny bit me while i was working as a dresser on a show a bit ago. i spent an inordinate amount of time fixing ties on a gorgeous young thing. gratitude and kisses to my lovely beta trio, [](http://phenix-tears.livejournal.com/profile)[**phenix_tears**](http://phenix-tears.livejournal.com/), [](http://thrihyrne.livejournal.com/profile)[**thrihyrne**](http://thrihyrne.livejournal.com/) and mrs_figby. i am so spoiled.

It is a perfect summer's day at the Burrow.  I watch as enchanted butterflies waft on breezes heavy with perfume in the bower-laden garden below. Bisecting rows of neat white chairs is a long soft carpet of rose petals, a chorus of deep reds and golds.

"Oy, Neville! Some help here."

At the sound of George Weasley's voice, I turn my attention from the window and take in the chaotic room.  My Auror training has me unconsciously cataloguing the people in the small space. I watch Longbottom as he leaves you at the full-length mirror and crosses towards the door, giving Weasel a reassuring pat as he hastens out after the twin. Weasel watches the pair leave with obvious trepidation and I squash down the ever-constant urge to bait him. It is his wedding day after all, and he is enough of a wreck as it is.  Finnigan suddenly displays an unexpected insight and goes over to calm the nervous groom with the pretense of helping him with his boutonnière.

Your frustrated sigh draws my awareness to you again and I can't help but smile as you try unsuccessfully to turn the bit of silk around your neck into a bow tie. The wizarding world's savior is being bested by a piece of clothing.  Granger has insisted on Muggle formal wear and I can't help but thank her. Who knew that under all those book smarts she's one of those girls that had been plotting her perfect wedding since she was five. 

Gazing at your reflection done up in a Muggle tuxedo I'm sure I have never seen anyone more edible.

I see your hands still and notice your eyes have found my image in the mirror. I look at my reflection, a tall blond leaning against the window ledge with studied grace, and wonder for the thoundsandth time, _what do you see?_

I've been your enemy. I've fought by your side. Now I'm partnered with your best mate. He and I make a good team.  We've rounded up more of the remaining Death Eaters than any of the other Aurors.

I know you trust me.

I hope you respect me.

But there seems to be an unspoken agreement that we are not friends despite my easy relationship with Weasel and Granger and the rest of the survivors from the war. Whenever we meet you are always politely distant, and I have no idea why.

I've known you for half my life. Studied you. Read your emotions in your eyes. Yet I still have no idea what I am to you now. Where I fit in your life.

I know what I'd like.

I realized I wanted to fuck you back in 6th year. I realized it even before I figured out I didn't want to be a Death Eater and long before I discovered that I didn't hate you. But even back then I was drawn to you. I wanted to have a piece of your power.  I wanted you to want me, to make you beg and plead. Wanted your beautifully Quidditch-toned muscles to flex with need of me. To see your flashing green eyes mist over with desire.

But you would have nothing to do with me. 

Much later, when I found myself fighting on the side of the light, when I watched you from a different angle, I discovered that I respected you, and my desire for you grew to something more. And then, after we had fought side by side in battle after battle, when I had done whatever it took protect you, it was then that I realized that I'd fallen for you. That I was hopelessly in love.

Now, watching your reflection, I am astonished to see you staring at me for so long. I can tell you are lost in thought and for an instant I think I see lust in those emerald eyes of yours. I smirk at the notion that the Boy Who Lived could want the Death Eater's Son.

I recognize the moment your attention returns to the room and our gazes lock. I raise a questioning eyebrow and am surprised to see you, a brave Gryffindor, quickly look away, back to your own visage. I can't take my eyes off of you as you watch your reflection blush. Without even realising it I have pushed myself away from the window and am sauntering up behind you. My rational mind is screaming at me to stop, but I am moving on instinct alone as I react to some primal need that I am no longer sure is mine.

You watch me approach, your hands gripping the uncooperative scrap of silk, your eyes bright with warring emotions. Soon I am standing behind you and it is taking all of my strength to keep from touching you. The air is vibrating around us and you seem to sway towards me.

"Can I help with that?" Comes out close to a purr as I rake my heated gaze over your reflected image. I can't believe you are allowing me to flirt with you despite what Hermione said last week.

It is rare that anyone can shock me out of my seeming unshakable calm, but she managed.

 _"I wish you and Harry would stop pretending and just bugger each other." Her voice was matter of fact, as if she was talking about her day at work. I am sure I looked like a fish, my mouth opening and closing, my eyes round with surprise. "Honestly, you are always bringing 'round men with green eyes and he is always drooling over platinum blond boys. Could it be anymore obvious?"_

 _By the end of her speech I'd finally regained my Malfoy smirk and I quirked my eyebrow at her. She just returned a knowing snort._

Your slight whimper returns me to the present and I realize with a start that you are biting your bottom lip. Heat curls in my belly and I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around you and pull you hard against me. I almost do until I remember we aren't alone and you've never seemed to want me near before.

You look so innocent, eyes wide, face flushed. Virginal even, and I wonder again if what Weasel said last winter is true.

 _We were on a long stake out and I was looking through the Daily Prophet Society pages out of sheer boredom. "Harry Potter was seen at a Ministry Party with his steady, Ginny Weasley." I read aloud. I snorted before adding, "When will those two chaste Gryffindor love birds get married?"_

 _Ron choked on his coffee and I had to thump his back. He looked at me incredulously. "You don't believe that shite do you Ferret? You must know that Harry is gay." He snickered then, and added under his breath, "and he is far from chaste."_

 _I was thrown by this revelation, but years of practice caused me to respond with cool indifference. "No Weasel, we don't have a secret handshake. We have to be told just like you straight folk." My mind was racing,_ The wholesome Gryffindor saint is gay? _I was kicking myself because Weasel was right, I should have known, but I've never been able to think clearly when it comes to you. I suddenly processed the second part of what he said. Giving my trademark smirk, I carefully trolled for more information, "Don't tell me you're implying that your House Hero is a getting blow jobs in the back of bars."_

 _Weasel turned an alarming shade of red. "Eeewww, thanks for the mental image. I've never really wanted to know the details of what happens with those Muggles from the gay bars he frequents."_

Watching you now I wonder how many men have succumbed to your emerald eyes, have run their hands through your tousled locks. My thoughts and the images they are conjuring up are driving me to distraction and I have to touch you, so I begin to move around you, brushing against your body as I slide between you and the mirror. You seem frozen, your fingers still uselessly holding the tie around your neck, your gaze glassy like a frightened deer.

"Here. Let me." I can hear the tightness in my voice.

I reach for your tie and you finally take your hands away. Our fingers knock against each other during the exchange and I hear your breath hitch. You've managed to twist the fabric around in your attempts, so I carefully run my hands around your collar, flattening and straightening as I go. You lift your chin to allow me better access and I can feel your erratic pulse beneath my fingertips, your breath on my face. I am stunned by how intimate this is. I've never been in the kind of relationship that included tying one another's neckwear. Never wanted to be. Until now. Now as I stand here, carefully fixing the crimson silk, it is taking all of my Malfoy willpower to keep my hands from wandering, from caressing your jaw, from threading my fingers through your hair.  Who would have thought that dressing someone could be so erotic? And suddenly I want to be the one who always ties your ties and then unties them after the party is over.

I finally finish and raise my eyes only to find that yours are fixated on my lips. For a heartbeat I think we are going to kiss, but -

"Oy, are we having this wedding or what? Would you blokes get your arses downstairs?"

It is George again, and you quickly back away from me with a flustered thanks, rushing to follow the red haired twin. I trail after at a more leisurely pace, my mind reviewing the past few minutes. _Perhaps the reception will be more interesting than I thought_. I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I hurry to join the others.

~fin


End file.
